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MORTALS 


B07-73   Adams,  P.  P. 
Adiyia y    Among  us  mortals 

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LIBRARY  OF  THE 

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AMONG  US  MORTALS 


PICTUEES   AND   LEGENDS   BY 

W.  E.  HILL 

TEXT   BY 

FEANKLIN  P.  ADAMS 


LIB?.ArJY  CF  THE 
WALT  DiSNEY  STUDIO 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

1917 


COPYRIGHT,    I916  AND   I917,    BV  THE  TRIBUNE  ASSOCIATION 
COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  November  tqiy 


if  l^mmmiW  % 


"  Believe  me,  dearie,  there 's  no  pleasing  the 
trash  in  this  hotel."  The  queen  of  the  switch- 
board confides  in  the  telegraph-operator. 


SRtB 

m 


S7^^;A9^ 


PREFACE  TO  A  PREFACE 

IT  is  possible,  dear  purchaser,  that  you  are  among 
us  mortals  whose  boast  is  that  We  Never  Read 
Prefaces.  I  never  read  them,  either,  especially  when 
they  are  written  by  somebody  who  did  n't  write  the 
book.  That  is,  I  never  read  them  until  after  I  have 
read  the  book;  then  I  go  back  to  find  out  whether  the 
preface-writer  lied. 

For  when  somebody  other  than  the  author  writes 
the  preface,  it  is  generally  for  commercial  reasons. 


PREFACE  TO  A  PREFACE 

It  is  when  the  author  is  comparatively  obscure,  and 
the  pubHshers  fear  that  unless  the  book  be  endorsed 
by  an  authority,  —  or,  what  is  more  important,  by 
what  the  book-buying  public  considers  an  authority, 
—  nobody  will  buy  it.  So  Mr.  Henry  Ford,  or  Mr. 
Andrew  Carnegie,  or  Mr.  Thomas  A.  Edison,  or  some- 
body whose  literary  endorsement  is  equally  weighty, 
writes  a  preface.  Not  that  I  wish  to  minify  the  value 
of  such  endorsements.  For  sales  purposes  I  should 
prefer  Mr.  Henry  Ford's  printed  approval  of  my 
books  (they  are  published,  if  you  must  know,  by 
Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.,  Garden  City,  New  York) 
to  the  three-sheeted  praise  of  Mr.  William  Crary 
Brownell. 

The  other  night  I  saw  The  Country  Cousiny  a  play 
written  by  two  of  my  favorite  authors,  Mr.  Booth 
Tarkington  and  Mr.  Julian  Street.  I  thought  it  an 
inferior  play,  and  so  did  Mr.  John  Corbin.  But 
Colonel  Roosevelt  rose  in  his  box  and  said  it  was  "a 
first-class  American  play";  and  President  Wilson  said 
the  play  was  "delightful."  This  morning's  papers 
blazon  these  nitid  endorsements;  and  more  people 
will  go  to  see  that  play  because  these  gentlemen  said 
what  they  did  than  went  to  see  —  well,  for  example, 
Hindle  Wakes,  which  had  the  strong  endorsement  of 
a  dozen  practiced,  experienced,  and  capable  critics. 
Yet  I  doubt  whether  either  Colonel  Roosevelt  or 
President  Wilson  could  hold  a  dramatic  critic's  job 
for  two  days.   If  the  Colonel  liked  a  play,  he  would 

vi 


PREFACE  TO  A  PREFACE 

probably  rush  down  to  the  oflSce  and  begin  his  cri- 
tique with  "Anybody  who  does  not  go  to  see  *Ata- 
boy!'  which  opened  last  night  at  the  Buchanan 
Theater  —  a  theater  named,  by  the  way,  for  a  presi- 
dent one  of  his  successors  seems  to  have  taken  as  his 
model  —  anybody  who  fails  to  see  that  splendid  play, 
I  repeat,  is  a  dastardly,  deliberate,  and  unqualified 
traitor."  "May  I  not  suggest,"  Dramatic  Critic  Wil- 
son might  begin,  "  that  'Ataboy!'  as  the  very  slang- 
ily  entitled  harlequinade  exhibited  at  the  Buchanan 
Theater  is  termed,  is  a  very  charming,  very  delight- 
ful, and,  if  I  may  coin  a  phrase,  a  very  good  play?  I 
should  like  to  hint,  if  I  may  be  permitted  the  liberty 
of  implying  it,  that  it  is  an  agreeable  play." 

If  the  publishers  of  this  book  had  chosen  Mr.  Edi- 
son or  Colonel  Roosevelt  to  write  the  preface  to  a 
book  of  Hill's  pictures,  those  gentlemen  would  have 
devoted  the  space  to  saying  (a)  how  great  they  con- 
sidered the  pictures;  (6)  how  great  —  therefore  — 
they  were;  and  (c)  that  —  therefore  —  it  was  the  duty 
of  the  public  to  consider  them  great.  The  public, 
bless  its  much  more  intelligent  heart  than  editors 
think  it  has,  is  doing  its  duty  by  Hill,  so  I  am  spared 
task  (c) ;  I  have  not  the  phraseology  of  art  criticism, 
so  (6)  is  denied  me;  but  (a)  is  within  my  province.  I 
think  they're  great. 

Perhaps  there  never  was  a  newspaper  feature  that 
achieved  so  much  popularity  so  quickly.  Certainly  I 
never  knew  of  one.   Hill's  weekly  page  of  drawings 

vii 


PREFACE  TO  A  PREFACE 

spread  in  public  favor  like  —  as  somebody  so  cleverly 
has  phrased  it  —  a  prairie  fire.  In  AprD,  1916, 1  was 
editing  the  New  York  Tribune  Magazine,  an  eight- 
page  Sunday  section.  My  associate,  who  did  all  the 
work  and  originated  most  of  the  ideas,  was  Mr. 
Arthur  H.  Folwell,  who  had  been,  for  fourteen  years, 
editor  of  Puck.  When  we  were  planning  our  first  num- 
ber of  the  magazine,  Folwell  said,  "One  man  we  have 
to  get  is  Bill  Hill."  Hill  had  been  drawing  sketches 
for  Puck.  So  we  asked  Hill  to  come  down  to  the 
Tribune  office.  "How  would  you  like  to  draw  a  page 
a  week  for  us.'^"  we  asked.  "Fine,"  said  Hill,  in  that 
verbose  way  he  has.  And  that's  how  it  began.  What- 
ever credit  attaches  to  being  first  to  see  the  possi- 
bilities in  Hill's  drawings  belongs  to  Folwell.  All  I 
did  was  to  assure  the  Tribune  that  even  if  we  did 
print  a  whole  page  of  drawings  every  Sunday,  nobody 
would  blow  up  the  building. 

The  first  Sunday  Hill's  page  appeared  nearly  every- 
body I  met  commented  on  it.  The  second  Sunday 
people  were  "discovering"  him,  which  is  the  best 
advertisement  a  book,  a  play,  or  a  newspaper  feature 
can  have.  And  in  a  month  it  was  almost  a  disgrace, 
in  our  gossipy  village,  not  to  have  seen  the  Hill  page 
by  Sunday  noon.  "Seen  that  iceman  of  Hill's?" 
somebody  would  say,  about  eleven  o'clock.  And  it 
would  be  a  matter  of  pride  to  answer,  "Yes,  that  was 
good;  but,  my  dear,  I  neariy  died  over  that  song  and 
dance  team  at  the  buriesque  show!"  And  newspaper 

viii 


PREFACE  TO  A  PREFACE 

and  magazine  men  I  met  would  say,  in  a  sort  of  ag- 
grieved manner,  "Say,  where  did  you  dig  up  that  man 
Hill?"  I  used  to  feel  guilty.  I  felt  as  though  I  should 
have  gone  first  to  the  other  newspapers  and  given 
them  an  option  on  Hill;  and  then,  if  nobody  else  had 
wanted  him,  it  would  have  been  fair  for  us  to  take 
him. 

Whenever  a  man  writes,  "Lack  of  time  and  space, 
etc.,"  he  lies.  As  a  rule,  he  is  merely  indolent,  and 
unwilling  to  spend  his  own  time  to  save  the  reader's, 
unwilling  or  unable  to  take  the  energy  and  time  to 
compress  into  small  space  his  prolix  and  vague  utter- 
ances. I  was  tempted  to  say  that  I  had  neither  time 
nor  space  to  explain  Hill's  popularity;  but  I  have  had 
more  than  a  year  to  think  about  it,  and  the  prodigal 
publishers,  who,  apparently,  think  that  white  paper 
grows  on  trees,  told  me  I  might  have  all  the  space  I 
wanted. 

Hill  is  popular,  by  which  I  mean  universal,  because 
you  think  his  pictures  look  like  somebody  you  know, 
like  Eddie,  or  Marjorie,  or  Aunt  Em.  But  they  don't; 
they  look  like  you.  Or,  if  you  prefer,  like  me.  He  is 
popular  because  he  draws  the  folks  everybody  knows. 
He  is  popular  for  the  same  reason  that  a  New  York 
audience  applauds  loudly  and  spontaneously  a  scene 
showing  Times  Square  or  some  equally  familiar  set- 
ting. Why  this  is  so  I  do  not  know.  Perhaps  it  is 
because  it  proves  the  Romance  of  the  Commonplace, 
because  it  shows  that  enchanted  things  may  happen 

ix 


PREFACE  TO  A  PREFACE 

in  scenes  utterly  familiar  to  you.  It  proves,  as  Hjll's 
pictures  markedly  and  clearly  prove,  that  you,  no 
matter  who  you  are,  live  in  a  vivid  and  interesting 
world.  And  maybe  it  never  had  occurred  to  you  be- 
fore. .  .  .  Arnold  Bennett  once  told  me  that  when  he 
was  studying  law,  he  happened  to  read  George 
Moore's  A  Mummer's  Wife.  The  scene  of  the  story 
is  the  Five  Towns.  "Why,"  thought  Bennett,  "  can 
it  be  that  /  live  in  this  romantic,  fascinating  place  ?  " 
And  he  looked  about  him,  for  the  first  time  with  the 
seeing  eye,  and  found  that  it  could  be  —  that  it  was. 
Hill  gives  us  all  the  seeing  eye. 

There  have  been  made  many  comparisons  of  Hill 
with  O.  Henry,  but  the  parallel  is  inept.  The  closest 
thing  to  Hill  in  literature  —  and  it  seems  to  me  the 
two  are  decidedly  similar — is  George  Ade.  Ade's  char- 
acterizations, you  say,  satirize  the  man  across  from 
you  in  the  subway;  they  don't:  they  satirize  you. 
Some  of  Ade's  oldest  characterizations,  taken  at  ran- 
dom, would  do  for  titles  to  Hill's  pictures  to-day. 
"Once  upon  a  Time,"  wrote  Ade  in  1899,  "there  was 
a  Slim  Girl  with  a  Forehead  which  was  Shiny  and 
Protuberant,  like  a  Bartlett  Pear.  When  asked  to 
put  Something  in  an  Autograph  Album,  she  invari- 
ably wrote  the  Following,  in  a  tall,  dislocated  Back- 
Hand: 

'  Life  is  Real,  Life  is  Earnest, 
And  the  Grave  is  not  its  Goal.'" 


PREFACE  TO  A  PREFACE 

And,  in  the  same  Fable:  "He  had  been  kicked  in 
the  Head  by  a  Mule  when  young  and  believed  every- 
thing he  read  in  the  Sunday  Papers.  His  pay  was 
Twenty-Three  a  Month,  which  was  high,  if  you  knew 
Ernest." 

Hill  has  drawn  the  Slim  Girl.  He  has  drawn 
Ernest.  And  "Luella  ...  a  Good  Girl,  who  had 
taken  Prizes  at  the  Mission  Sunday  School,  but  she 
was  Plain,  Much.  Her  Features  did  not  seem  to 
know  the  value  of  Team  Work.  Her  Clothes  fit  her 
Intermittently,  as  it  were.  She  was  what  would  be 
called  a  Lumpy  Dresser.   But  she  had  a  good  Heart." 

And  "  Gus  .  .  .  the  kind  of  Fellow  who  would  see  a 
Girl  twice,  and  then,  upon  meeting  her  the  Third 
Time,  would  go  up  and  straighten  her  Cravat  for 
her,  and  call  her  by  her  First  Name.  .  .  .  Upon  enter- 
ing a  Parlor  Car  at  St.  Paul  he  would  select  a  Chair 
next  to  the  Most  Promising  One  in  Sight,  and  ask  her 
if  she  cared  to  have  the  Shade  lowered.  ...  At  Mil- 
waukee he  would  go  out  and  buy  a  Bouquet  for  her, 
and  when  they  rode  into  Chicago  they  would  be  look- 
ing out  of  the  same  Window,  and  he  would  be  ar- 
ranging for  her  Baggage  with  the  Transfer  Man.  After 
that  they  would  be  Old  Friends."  And  a  favorite  Hill 
model  is  Ade's  "tall  Blonde  who  knew  that  Colum- 
bus discovered  America  and  which  kind  of  Massage 
Cream  to  buy,  and  let  it  go  at  that." 

There  is,  to  my  notion,  another  similarity  —  beside 
their  intense  Americanness  —  between  Ade  and  Hill. 

xi 


PREFACE  TO  A  PREFACE 

They  are  considered,  by  the  public  that  financially 
supports  them,  a  couple  of  amusing  clowns,  a  pair  of 
merry-andrews,  surface  observers.  I  can  imagine 
their  friends  asking  them  when  they  are  going  to  do 
something  serious,  something  "big."  If  there  is  any- 
thing in  American  literature  "bigger"  than  Ade,  I 
should  like  to  know  who  is  writing  it;  and  if  anybody's 
pictures  are  more  serious  than  Hill's,  I  should  like  to 
write  a  preface  to  his  book,  too. 

Which  brings  me,  after  using  your  time  and  the 
publishers'  space,  to  the 


PREFACE 

The  pictures  in  this  book  were  drawn  by  William 
E.  Hill,  who  was  born  in  New  York  in  1887  and  was 
graduated  from  Amherst  in  1909.  He  lives  in  New 
York. 

His  profession  is  helping  make  the  world  safe  from 
hypocrisy. 

Franklin  P.  Adams 

New  York,  October  13, 1917. 


Tableaus  at  the  Country  Club  —  Late  arrivals  in  the  back 

of  the  room  enjoying  the  "  Death  of  Little  Nell "  much 

to  the  annoyance  of  little  Nell's  aunt. 


CONTENTS 

I.  The  Amateur  Vaudeville 
II.  The  Movies 

III.  The  Burlesque  Show 

IV.  Afternoon  Tea  Hour 
V.  Modern  Art 

VI.  The  Senior  Hop 
VII.  Summer  People 
VIII.  War  Stutf 
IX.  The  Apartment  House 
X.  Opening  Night 
XI.  The  Fraternity  Banquet 
XII.  Christmas 


AMONG  US  MORTALS 


Two  women  who  hate  each  other  saying :  "  My 

dear,  I  've  thought  of  you  so  often, 

and  I  'm  coming  to  see  you  the 

very  first  chance  I  get." 


THE  AMATEUR  VAUDEVILLE 


Keggie  has  consumed  an  hour  in  trying  to 
make  himself  resemble  a  collar  ad. 


Grayce  dearest,  — 

We  had  the  vaudeville  last  night  and  it  was  suck  a 
success!  Honestly,  if  I  do  say  it  myself,  some  of  the 
boys  were  better  than  lots  I've  seen  on  the  profes- 
sional stage.  And  anyhow,  we  took  in  $830  —  or 
maybe  it  was  $380, 1  was  always  poor  in  arithmetic  — 


THE  AMATEUR  VAUDEVILLE 

and  it 's  for  the  Surgical  Dressings  Board,  so  you  see  it 
was  for  a  "good  cause." 

There  was  a  cartoonist  there,  a  Mr.  Hills,  I  be- 
lieve, who  made  sketches  of  us.  They  were  as  clever 
as  they  could  be.  I  met  him,  too,  but  he  went  away 
right  after  the  "show."  He's  married,  I  suppose.  AJl 
the  nicest  men  you  meet  are. 

Reggie  was  awfully  good,  he  looked  so  strong  and 
manly.  And  Bert's  imitation  of  Harry  Lauder  was 
simply  wonderful.  You  could  have  closed  your  eyes 
and  imagined  that  IVIr.  L.  was  on  the  stage.  I  was  in 
the  chorus,  and  a  "certain  person"  said  I  looked  ter- 
ribly cute.  And  he  said  it  sincerely,  too,  if  you  know 
what  I  mean. 

After  the  "show  "  Bert  and  I  went  out  on  the  piazza, 
and  he  told  me  a  lot  of  personal  things.  He's  really 
deep,  though  everybody  thinks  he's  just  funny.  He 
said  "Tempus  fidgets,"  but  I  said,  "Well,  it's  really 
a  shame  to  go  indoors,  a  night  like  this."  And  he  said 
he'd  try  anything  once.  So  we  sat  and  talked,  and, 
my  dear,  we  did  n't  go  in  until  3  G.M. 

I  think  we  '11  have  a  good  time  here.  It  is  n't  the 
place  so  much  as  the  people.  You  can  always  have  a 
good  time  with  your  own  crowd,  anyhow. 

I  '11  bet  it 's  hot  in  town.  It 's  warm  here  in  the  day- 
time, but  the  nights  are  always  cool  and  we've  slept 
under  blankets  every  night. 

Well,  olive  oil.  t?«„^i,, 

^^^^^y*  Dulcinea. 


Programme  girl,  who  has  more  paint  on  than 
the  entire  chorus  of  the  show. 


Pete,  the  electrician,  having  a  little  argument  with  the 

girl  who  does  n't  see  why  the  calcium  can't  be  brought 

right  down  in  the  wings  during  her  song. 


"5 


Marie  Louise,  who  wore  her  bridesmaid  dress  for 

the  fashion  number,  sees  four  more  of 

them  in  the  audience. 


Very  much  flustered  amateur  cartoonist,  who  has  used  up 

ten  of  the  allotted  twelve  minutes  and  is  still  rubbing 

out  lines  and  putting  them  in  again. 


Toe  dancer,  who  comes  down  hard,  like  a  ton  of  brick, 
causing  the  temporary  stage  to  all  but  collapse. 


The  imitation  of  Harry  Lauder  by  the  man  who 

never  has  seen  him,  but  knows  how 

his  stuff  ought  to  go. 


II 

THE  MOVIES 


The  lady  who  presides  at  the  ticket  window. 


(After  "Carcassonne") 

I'm  growing  old,  I've  forty  years; 

I  've  labored  twenty  of  them  hard. 
I  've  fif  ty-fif  tied  smiles  and  tears. 

Like  many  an  elder,  better  bard. 


THE  MOVIES 

I've  lived  in  palace  and  in  hut. 
In  tropic  sun  and  winter  snow. 

I  've  roamed  this  well-known  planet,  but 
I've  never  seen  a  movie  show. 

The  Chaplin  fall  I've  never  seen; 

I've  never  seen  the  Pickford  curl; 
I  know  not  Fairbanks  of  the  screen; 

I  've  never  glimmed  the  Bara  girl, 
I  'd  like  to  spill  some  stirring  rhymes. 

But  writing  what  I  do  not  know 
Is  not  among  my  petty  crimes  .  .  . 

I've  never  seen  a  movie  show. 


The  man  who  knows  all  the  inside  dope  about  the  players' 
salaries,  and  the  girl  who  has  been  told  she  resembles  Theda 
Bara  and  njakes  you  guess  who  it  is  she  looks  like. 


I? 

'a* 

I 

•g. 


a 

s 

«  a 


I— « 

O 

O 
-S3 

o 

09 

to 
1 


Close-up  of  Nellie,  the  waif,  who  has  just  blown  open  a  safe  only  to 

discover  documentary  evidence  that  she  has  been  robbing  her  own 

father.    In  the  front  row  sit  Georgie  and  his  nurse,  supposed 

to  be  taking  an  airing  in  the  park. 


m 

THE  BURLESQUE  SHOW 


La  Belle  Emelinita,  the  special 
attraction  of  the  olio. 


THE  DIARY  OF  OUR  OWN  SAMUEL  PEPYS 

October  9  —  Up,  and  to  my  office,  where  all  the  talk 
is  of  the  great  warr,  as,  indeed,  it  is  in  all  other  places. 
Nor  can  I  ifind  many  to  talk  of  base-ball,  and  of  the 


THE  BURLESQUE  SHOW 

great  series  which  beginneth  to-morrow;  yet  do  I 
know  those  zanies,  the  pubHck,  and  albeit  all  do  say, 
I  take  no  interest  in  the  game  this  year,  yet  fifty  of 
them,  on  the  morrow  morn,  will  genuflect  to  me  for 
billets  to  the  game,  which,  Lord!  I  can  not  get  so 
easily  as  they  might  themselves.  Comes  W.  Hill  the 
artist  to  see  me,  and  we  to  an  inn  for  dinner,  of  a  clam- 
chowder,  and  a  chine  of  beef,  and  a  salad  of  tomatoes, 
and  a  blueberry  pasty;  all  very  fine,  and  it  cost  me  near 
£l,  which  I  payed  with  a  fair  grace.  Then  we  to  the 
playhouse  to  see  The  Gay  Society  Belles  Burlesque 
show,  a  noisy  harlequinade.  For  I  had  heard  a  great 
to-do  about  the  improvement  in  these  shows,  how  that 
they  are  better  than  they  were  in  the  days  when  C. 
Riegelman  and  I  were  lads  and  went  to  see  a  handsome 
woman  called  Karina,  at  Sam  T.  Jack's  playhouse. 
But  the  comick  men  to-night  lacked,  me-seemed,  the 
high  and  humourous  vulgarity  my  boyhood  laughed 
at,  and  the  women  were  without  beauty  or  grace,  and 
all  had  gold  teeth,  and  wore  cotton  stockings,  which 
would  make  Cleopatra  herself  to  seem  inalluring.  Nor 
did  I  like  their  comick  songs  so  well  as  the  sad  minor 
melodies  of  my  youth.  Lord!  I  would  give  £5  to  see 
"Old  Age  and  Youth,"  and  to  hear  a  team  sing 

"Is-a  thatchu  Madge?"  I  said  to  her. 

She-a  quickly  toined  away. 
"Don't  toin  away,  Madge,  I  am  still  your  friend. 
To-night  I  'm  going  back  to  see 
The  old  folks,  and  I  thought 
Perhaps  a  messidge  you  would  like  to  send." 


The  beef  truster  —  nearly  extinct. 


THE  BURLESQUE  SHOW 

Or 

In  a  Pullman  palace  smoker  sat  a  number  of  bright  men; 
You  could  tell  that  they  were  drummers;  nothing  seemed  to 
trouble  them. 

Or 

And  when  a  pretty  waitress 

Brought  them  a  tray  of  food. 
They  spoke  to  her  insultingly. 

In  manner  rather  rude. 

But  here  was  a  team,  with  their  inane  rag,  tag,  and 
bobtail,  mumbling  something  about  the  ukulele,  an 
instrument  said  to  be  played  by  the  Sandwich  Is- 
landers, God  pity  them!  And  the  endless  iteration  of 
jokes  that  had  no  flavour  soever,  no  more  than  rice 
pudding  with  vanilla  sauce.  But  the  house  was 
crowded  with  lackwits,  and  the  feeble  japeries  made 
all  guffaw.  And  I  told  W.  Hill  of  the  days  when  1  saw 
a  team  called  Caron  and  Herbert,  and  how  droll  they 
were;  and  one  called  Mazuz  and  Mazette;  and  of  the 
comickalities  of  Billy  Van  and  the  pungent  humour  of 
Charlie  Case.  And  of  the  thrill  that  went  over  me 
when  Lady  Sholto  Douglas,  wearing  a  diamond  garter, 
sang  "The  Daughter  of  Officer  Porter";  and  how  I 
laughed  when  Johnny  Ray  would  say,  "I've  been  up 
sixteen  flights  of  stairs  and  every  door's  a  window.'* 
There  is  no  comick  stuff  like  that  these  days.  Home, 
and  read  The  New  Republic,  and  to-bed. 


Lilly  Komaine,  soubrette,  on  the  programme  as  "  The  Little 
Bombshell  of  Joy,"  living  up  to  her  reputation. 


Three  of  the  chorus  ladies  in  the  baseball  number. 


Chorus  lady,  who  can  bawl  out  a  stage  hand  in  the 
wings  without  getting  out  of  step. 


ti^ 


Neither  the  iceman  nor  the  barber  had  heard  that  one  before. 


High  society  on  the  burlesque  circuit  —  showing 
Mrs.  Van-Alstyne  Nickelbocker  dining  with  the 
Duke  of  Flub  Dub,  on  the  lawn  of  her  villa  at  New- 
port. The  Duke  has  just  interpolated  a  shady  joke. 


The  wife  of  the  man  who  owns  the  show  as  Columbia 
in  the  big  patriotic  finale. 


IV 

AFTERNOON  TEA  HOUR 


Balancing  a  cup  of  tea,  a  piece  of  cake, 
and  a  very  limp  sandwich,  pre- 
paratory to  shaking  hands. 


AFTERNOON   TEA 

'Can*t  we  get  out  of  the  crush?" 
"I  never  dreamed  you'd  be  here." 

'How  Dorothea  can  gush!" 
"Have  n't  seen  you  in  a  year." 


AFTERNOON  TEA  HOUR 

'I  never  dreamed  you*d  be  here."' 
"Has  n't  the  weather  been  cool?" 

'Have  n't  seen  you  in  a  year!" 
"What!  Why,  she's  just  out  of  school!' 

^Has  n't  the  weather  been  cool?" 
"My,  what  a  polyglot  bunch!" 

'What!  Why,  she's  just  out  of  school!" 
("I  have  n't  had  any  lunch ! ") 

'My,  what  a  polyglot  bunch!" 
"Teas  are  a  thing  I  detest .  .  . 
I  have  n't  had  any  lunch. 
Hurry.  That  man  is  a  pest!" 

'Teas  are  a  thing  I  detest." 

"How  Dorothea  can  gush!" 
'Hurry.  That  man  is  a  pest! 
Can't  we  get  out  of  the  crush?" 


r^^ 


Delia,  who  had  a  date  with  her  young  man 
and  has  had  to  stay  in  to  serve  tea. 


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The  plain  girl  who  is  always  being  dragged 
from  a  corner  for  some  one  to  meet. 


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"  Oh  you  should  have  been  with  us  yesterday  —  we  saw 
such  interesting  types  for  you  to  draw !  " 


MODERN  ART 


The  opening  day  at  an  exhibition  of 
modern  art. 


Grayce  dearest  — 

I  am  getting  to  be  quite  a  "bohemian."  Went  to 
an  art  show  yesterday  and  saw  some  of  the  new  things 
—  "futurist,"  they  call  them.  They  don't  mean  any- 
thing in  my  "young  life."  It's  like  in  music  —  I  al- 


MODERN  ART 

ways  say  give  me  something  with  a  tune  in  it,  like 
"The  Rosary  "  or  "Narcissus."  And  something  cheer- 
ful. Like  on  the  stage.  "Gee,"  there's  enough  sad- 
ness in  real  life  without  going  to  books  or  the  theatre 
for  it.  I  like  to  be  amused. 

Well,  about  those  pictures.  Honestly,  I  don't  know 
a  thing  about  Art,  but  thank  Goodness  I  know  what 
I  like.  And  I  am  nothing  if  not  frank,  so  I  told  Harry. 
He  really  did  n't  mind.  I  think  if  you  say  out  what 
you  think,  it's  best  in  the  long  run.  Of  Course,  unless 
it  hurts  somebody.  I  simply  can't  bear  to  hurt  any- 
body. Harry  is  that  way,  too,  and  he  is  so  kind  to 
dumb  animals.  Really,  he  is  a  dear. 

The  pictures  were  so  silly!  What  I  like  are  those 
magazine  covers  by  Harrison  Fisher,  is  it?  or  Christy, 
and  Neysa  McMein.  I  wonder  how  she  pronounces  it. 
I  know  a  boy  who  knows  her  and  he  says  it 's  McMane 
—  like  that.  He  says  she's  terribly  fascinating!  I  wish 
I  could  draw  —  the  life  must  be  so  romantic  and  won- 
derful. But,  honestly,  I  can't  draw  a  straight  line. 
I  don't  see  how  Briggs  and  Goldberg  get  all  their 
ideas.  Think  of  having  to  do  it  every  day ! 

I  have  n't  heard  from  you  in  ages  and  ages.  This 
is  Wednesday,  but  it  seems  like  Monday  to  me  be- 
cause yesterday  was  a  holiday. 

"Over  the  river." 

Fondly, 

Dulcy. 


Ethel  and  Aunt  Maud,  after  giving  a  portrait  bust  the 
once  over,  decide  that  this  new  stufE  is  "  just  a  fad  like 
the  kewpies."  In  the  background  is  the  girl  who  never 
knew  what  color  was  till  she  saw  the  Russian  Ballet. 


^-:^J 


Debutante  of  two  years  back  who  has  to  take  up  art 
to  kill  time. 


#f  • 


i'r 


Criticism.    Now  there's  something  awfully  big,  awfully 
broad,  awfully  virile,  in  the  handling  of  this  one. 


Artist  discovering  that  the  only  one  of  his  pictures  sold 
has  been  hung  up-side-down. 


VI 

THE  SENIOR  HOP 


The  house-party  chaperon,  who  calls  everybody 

"  honey  boy  "  and  is  always  kissing  some 

one.    Not  over  popular  with  the  girls. 


Perhaps,  when  the  world  shall  have  been  made 
safe  for  democracy,  the  Senior  Hop  and  the  Junior 
Prom  will  be  abolished.  Or  if  they  continue,  in  such 


THE  SENIOR  HOP 

a  world,  everybody  in  college  will  be  invited.  And 
then,  I  fear,  they  will  perish  automatically,  as  will 
many  things  in  an  ideally  democratic  universe.  .  .  . 
I  wonder  how  we  fighters  for  democracy  will  like  it. 


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Four  girls  having  declined,  Shorty  was  up  against 
it  till  his  sister,  at  school,  hit  upon  the  happy 
idea  of  sending  her  roommate,  a  "  perfectly  cork- 
ing girl "  whom  Shorty  had  never  seen. 


The  dean's  wife  cornering  some  one  to  come  over  and  meet 

the  visiting  peach  whom  she  has  been  press-agenting 

for  the  last  two  months. 


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Two  of  the  faculty  wives  having  the  time  of  their  lives 
pulling  Mrs.  Prexy  to  pieces. 


The  conscientious  freshman,  who  always  dances  with  all 
the  patronesses,  finishes  the  evening's  work  with  the  Greek 
professor's  wife,  who  hasn't  danced  since  long  before  the 
two-step  went  out  of  vogue. 


Brother  Simms,  whose  girl  could  n't  come  at  the 
last  moment.  He  has  been  drowning  his  sorrows 
and  now  insists  on  going  up  to  the  house-party 
and  serenading  the  chaperons. 


vn 

SUMMER  PEOPLE 


Watching  the  engaged  couple. 

Grayce  dear  — 

Here  we  are  at  Bromidlewild.  It  is  perfectly  lovely, 
so  quiet  and  restful.  The  railroad  fare  is  $6.80,  but 
I  always  say  the  fare  is  the  least  of  one's  traveling 


SUMMER  PEOPLE 

expenses.  The  train  was  an  hour  late.  It  seems  that 
every  time  I*m  on  a  train  it's  late,  but  when  I'm  a 
minute  late  catching  it,  it's  right  on  the  dot.  Papa 
says  life  is  like  that. 

My  room  is  rather  small,  but  everything  is  spot- 
lessly clean.  Besides,  I'm  outdoors  all  day  long,  so 
what  does  the  room  matter?  This  is  my  room,  marked 
X  on  the  letter-head.  The  meals  are  n't  very  good, 
but  I  don't  mind.  If  the  bread  and  butter  are  good, 
I  always  say,  you  can  stand  anything.  Besides,  the 
people  who  complain  about  the  table  are  always  the 
ones  who  are  n't  used  to  anything  better  at  home. 

There  is  a  young  man  here  from  the  West,  from 
Iowa  or  Minneapolis  or  somewhere.  He  is  different 
from  the  Eastern  men  I  know  —  more  open  and  frank, 
like  his  own  prairies,  if  you  know  what  I  mean.  There 
is  another  boy  here  who  has  just  graduated  from 
Princeton.  I  told  him  he  would  find  the  world  a  good 
deal  harder  than  college,  but  he  said  it  was  a  small 
world  after  all,  and  college  was  pretty  big.  Was  n't 
that  silly?  College  is  fine  for  boys,  I  think.  The  friend- 
ships they  form  there  are  often  more  valuable  to  them 
in  after  life  than  their  studies. 

Helen  came  up  here  Saturday.  She  went  to  Coney 
Island  Friday  night,  she  said.  I  like  to  go  once  a  year, 
and  that's  enough.  Helen  is  n't  much  to  look  at,  but 
she's  one  of  the  best-hearted  girls  I  know.  And  she 
has  stacks  of  girl  friends.  I  always  say  if  a  girl  has  n't 
got  girl  friends,  there  must  be  something  wrong.  That 


The  boy  who  has  all  the  latest  steps  and  the  girl  who  is 
just  crazy  to  learn  them. 


SUMMER  PEOPLE 

Princeton  boy  said  the  same  thing  was  true  about  men 
and  man  friends.  I  guess  college  brings  out  every- 
thing a  man  has  in  him  —  it  either  makes  him  or 
breaks  him.  He  used  to  know  Helen  in  Pittsburgh. 
How  small  the  world  is!  There's  another  boy  here 
I  met  last  summer  at  Kamp  Kumfort.  I  can't  re- 
member his  name.  I  never  forget  a  face,  but  I'm 
awful  at  names.  He's  kind  of  a  Socialist,  but  I  told 
him  I  thought  if  all  the  money  in  the  world  were  di- 
vided equally  it  wouldn't  be  long  before  the  same 
folks  had  most  of  it  who  had  most  of  it  before.  He 
has  a  Ford.  It's  not  very  pretty,  but  it  does  get  you 
from  place  to  place. 

There's  dancing,  Grayce,  too.  Heavenly  floor  and 
a  "jazz"  band,  as  they  call  it.  I  don't  care  two  cents 
for  dancing  imless  there 's  a  good  floor  and  good  music. 
Do  you?  Or  don't  you? 

Well,  I  only  meant  to  write  a  line  and  I  've  written 
'pages  1 

Well,  don't  take  any  wooden  nickels.   Ta-ta. 

^""'I'y'  Dulcinea. 

P.S.  Write  me.  I  hate  to  write  letters,  but  I  simply 
love  to  get  them. 

D. 


Gladys  goes  wading. 


Mr.  Healy,  the  milkman,  gets  a  whole  season's  sunburn 
in  one  day. 


Lady  laughing  at  a  Ford  joke. 


bO 


bO 

-I 


I 


The  girl  who  thinks  men  will  respect  her  so  much  more  if 
she  does  n't  smoke. 


m   * 


Hay  fever  — "  Dodt  cob  dear  be  with  that  golded-rod !  " 


lHl^^iFKa\<^t. 


vni 

WAR  STUFF 


^W/2'^ 


'''v5S^^ 


The  man  who  was  awfully  fierce  and  warlike 

before  war  was  declared,  but  who  is 

abnormally  reticent  nowadays. 


WAR  STUFF 

Hill  omitted  an  interesting  portrait  in  "War 
Stuff."  He  should  have  drawn  one  of  the  German  who 
said  that  he  enjoyed  his  travels  in  America,  but  that 
his  wife  did  get  so  tired  of  those  upper  berths. 


The  sentimental  lady  who  once  spent 
four  days  in  a  Munich  pension,  knows 
the  German  people  thoroughly,  and  does 
not  believe  a  word  about  these  atrocities. 


r  > 


/■ 


iiiii.. 


Mrs.  Roederbeck,  who  was  leading  up  to  a  little  kitchen 
talk  on  War  Economy,  loses  her  nerve  when  Viola,  the 
cook,  begins  her  usual  line  about  the  lavish  table  they 
used  to  set  at  her  last  place. 


<^~^:C^ 


The  young  man  who  is  all  for  universal  service,  but  who 

unfortunately  can't  do  anything  himself  on  account 

of  two  weak  ankles  and  a  fallen  arch. 


Clara  was  learning  to  drive  a  motor-ambulance  and  was 
getting  along  quite  nicely  (provided  there  was  some  one 
around  to  crank  the  car)  when  she  had  a  perfectly  dandy 
invitation  to  visit  out  in  Seattle,  and,  so,  of  course,  she 
had  to  give  up  all  the  war  preparations. 


. ■*.'  ■^■^3^>*^t»*v»''!ii:<'iKi-,.w    ■; 


The  box  party  at  the  opera-house  whose  gossip  is  inter- 
rupted when  the  house  stands  to  sing  the  national  anthem. 
None  of  them  knows  the  words,  although  one  man  in  the 
back  of  the  box  is  making  his  mouth  move  appropriately. 


IX 

THE  APARTMENT  HOUSE 


Eager  ren  ting-agent,  who 
tells  you  that  the  apart- 
ment usually  rents  for 
twenty-two  hundred,  but, 
because  he  has  taken  such 
a  fancy  to  you,  he  '11  let  it 
go  for  eighteen  hundred. 


THE  APARTMENT  HOUSE 

ALSO,   THERE   MIGHT   BE   PICTURES  OF— 

Albert,  the  West  Indian  hallboy,  who  gets  $35 
a  month  and  tells  you  scornfully  that  "we  haven't 
any  apartments  under  $3100." 

HuLDA,  the  sturdy  viqueen,  gently  —  oh,  so  gently 
—  beating  rugs  on  the  roof. 

Elsie,  the  switchboard  operator,  reading  next 
month's  "Yippy  Yarns"  while  Central  is  assuring 
somebody  "Mornington  2493  does  not  answer." 

Mrs.  Beasley  showing  Clara,  the  newly  engaged 
handmaiden,  her  bedroom,  and  wondering  whether 
Clara  will  like  it. 

Clara,  the  newly  engaged  handmaiden,  getting 
her  first  look  at  her  bedroom,  and  deciding  to  herself 
that  she  is  going  to  hate  the  place. 


The  prospective  tenants,  escorted  by  the  janitor,  want  to 
see  everything  —  including  the  room  in  which  an  un- 
prepared member  of  the  family  is  trying  to  hide. 


A  family  is  moving  in  on  the  first  floor,  and  Sidney, 
the  elevator  boy,  who  objects  to  being  imposed  upon, 
retires  with  his  car  to  the  top  of  the  house  till  all  the 
heavy  pieces  have  been  carried  in. 


That  new  blonde  across  the  area-way  may  be  all  right, 
but  Mrs.  Iseman  has  her  own  ideas  on  the  subject. 


The  janitress  comes  up  for  air. 


(V^Jv  i.Iilil-^^'^^ 


Mrs.  Schultz,  on  a  diet,  Is  about  to  lunch  on  a  glass  of 

milk  and  a  cracker,  when  she  smells  beefsteak 

and  onions  cooking  somewhere  downstairs. 


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Bessie's  one  chance  to  get  away  from  the  family  and 
read  her  correspondence. 


X 

OPENING   NIGHT 


Box-office  man  telling  the  man 
who  wanted  the  seat  on  the  end, 
down  in  front,  that  he  has  a 
splendid  one  in  "  M,"  five  seats 
from  the  aisle. 


OPENING  NIGHT 

AND   THE   COUPLE   IN   BACK  OF   YOU,   WHO 
SAY,   IN    PART: 

"It's  too  bad  John  Drew  can't  get  a  first-class  play. 
He's  such  a  finished  actor." 

*'0h,  yes.   She's  always  good." 

"I  laughed,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  n't  tell 
you  what  I  laughed  at." 

"I  always  read  his  criticisms,  even  when  I  disagree 
with  him." 

"Well,  it  always  runs  longer  the  first  night.  When 
they  begin  to  cut  —  " 

"I  like  Willie  Collier  better.  He's  so  —  you  know 
—  natural." 

"She's  got  no  voice,  I  know,  but  she's  got  per- 
sonality—  that's  what  she's  got  —  personality." 

"That's  James  Montgomery  Flagg  or  Montague 
Glass.  I  always  get  them  mixed  up." 

"That's  just  what  I  think.  It's  a  good  play, but 
not  a  great  play.'* 


The  small-town  evening  clothes.     Uncle  Harry  feels  just 
as  uncomfortable  as  he  looks. 


Ushers  applauding  the  good  points  of  the  show. 


The  critic  of  the  trade  journal  takes  a  great  many  notes. 


^-^^i^f/:m 


Chorus  lady  sees  a  couple  of  college  friends  from  New 
Haven  in  the  audience. 


\^^ 


'^  ilk 


The  star.    "  Wanta  thank  you  .  .  .  behalf  of  myself  and 
the  company." 


Actress  who  rehearsed  for  the  part  and  didn't  make  good 
watching  the  leading  lady  in  her  big  emotional  scene. 


"Well,  I  'm  afraid  it 's  a  hit." 


XI 

THE   FRATERNITY   BANQUET 


Somewhat  nervous  speaker  about  to  be  reminded 
by  something  or  other  of  the  story  of  the  Irish- 
man who  met  the  Frenchman  coming  down  the 
street. 


THE  FRATERNITY  BANQUET 

THE   CONFRATERNITY   BANQUET 

HOW   IT   SOUNDS   AT   ABOUT    10:55 

How  can  I  bear  to  boola  boo  the  shades  of  Upidee 
That's  where  my  heart  is  weep  no  more  my  O  say  can 

you  see 
How  dear  to  heart  grows  weary  she 's  a  bear  is  Delta  U 
Above  Cayuga's  waters  for  the  Yellow  and  the  Blue. 

A  Spanish  cava  fare  thee  well  and  everything  so  fine 
That's  where  you  get  your  old  black  Joe  my  darling 

Clementine 
The  old  folks  would  enjoy  it  Tipperary  't  is  of  thee 
'Twas  from  Aunt  Dinah's  quilting  on  the  beach  at 

Waikiki. 

The  pope  he  good-night  ladies  Alpha  Nu  because 
we're  here 

Just  break  the  news  to  mother  with  a  good  song  ring- 
ing clear 

Just  tell  them  that  fair  Harvard  old  Nassau  is  shining 
bright 

How  can  I  bear  to  boola  boo  we  roll  along  to-night. 


SSS:?^?S^^^^^*^^s***'^'"  ■ 


The  coatroom  girl  giviiig  the  tall  hats  a  rough  deal. 


Brother  Beckraesser  has  come  a  thousand  miles  to  speak  of 
the  excellence  of  his  fraternity. 


Brother  Mink,  chronic  fraternity  bug,  arguing  the  ad- 
visability of  establishing  a  precedent  with  regard 
to  the  reading  of  the  minutes,  etc. 


■V.^'ft'*  •     T'.-  ^'-^^      •.■^-13?, 

^^#^'3?%;  ■-■■ 


Boys  at  the  far  table  making  sure  of  getting  into  the  picture. 


The  old  boys  who  feel  as  young  at  seventy  as  they  did  at 

twenty  and  the  undergraduate  who  hopes  he  will 

never  be  such  an  old  fool. 


xn 

CHRISTMAS 


The  saleslady's  Christmas  morning. 


Grayce  dearest  — 

Xmas  comes  but  once  a  year.  It  does  n't  seem  a 
year  since  last  Xmas,  does  it.'^  I  suppose  the  older  you 
get  the  faster  the  time  seems  to  go. 

I  have  n't  time  for  a  "lengthy  epistle"  but  you  will 
take  the  will  for  the  deed,  I  know.  I  am  sending  you 
just  a  trifle.  It  is  n't  the  value  of  the  gift,  I  always 
say.    It's  the  spirit  that  goes  with  it.    And  I  hope 


CHRISTMAS 

you'll  like  this  book  as  well  as  I  do  —  "Among  We 
Mortals,"  the  funniest  pictures!  The  reading  matter 
is  silly,  but  what  do  we  care,  as  Eva  Tanguay  says. 

I  have  a  million  cards  to  write,  so  excuse  me.  You 
never  know  how  many  friends  you  have  till  Christ- 
mas comes. 

Well,  Merry  Xmas, 

From  Your  aff't, 

Dulcinea. 


Little  girl  who  wants  a  vanity  case  for  Christmas, 

waiting  while  her  parents  look  through 

the  toy  department. 


The  laundry  boy  hands  in  a  card  which  reads : 

"  Christmas  is  here,  with  lots  of  joy, 

So  don't  forget  the  laundry  boy." 


S 

o 
IS 

OQ 
0) 


j:4 
o 
o 

3      OQ 

§.2 

J3 


o 


-3 


..>;^^^m^.     3 


The  family  gathering.     Cousin  Amy  and  Cousin  Maud 

explaining  why  they  have  n't  exchanged  calls  in 

a  year.    Neither  is  getting  away  with  it. 


o 

I 

-d 

d 
O 


The  lady  trapeze 

artist   in   the 

"  Grand  Free 

Open  Air 

Show." 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U   .   S   .   A 


UC  SOUTHHW  HEGIONAl  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


001  444  696    7 


.^-^^ 


